


A Nice Family Dinner

by highboys (orphan_account)



Category: Axis Powers Hetalia
Genre: F/M, Genderbending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canada didn't think dinner would be too much of a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Nice Family Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Measured](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/gifts).



> For maplesandroses' 2011 gift-a-thon prompt #15.

When Canada was younger, she'd had her entire future mapped out. Said future involved a nice, warm house with a fireplace and a dog, one that could accommodate a lighthearted and nice family dinner with the people she loved the most. She had also had plans to be more assertive, and look how well _that_ turned out. So when she got the nice, warm house with a fireplace and a polar bear, sans a dog, she should have been happy enough that her family members didn't burn it down the first time they came over.

In front of her, England was already engaged in arm-to-arm (or, well, utensil-to-utensil) combat with France, and France was sneering at him despite his earlier declaration of not baiting England. At least America had already grown bored of the proceedings, content, instead, with (and here Canada positively blanched) sexting Russia despite the epic phone bills he received every month. Canada stared at her fingers, at the sweat accumulating on her palms. It wasn't so bad, right? Her centerpiece was still in tact, at lea -- oh, there it went, outside the window. _Damn it_. Canada started to tear up.

"You uncultured oaf," said France, stabbing his spoon on England's chest. "You're making her feel bad!"

England had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but looked askance at France's concern. "You made it, didn't you?"

"I can't believe you're even asking me this," said France. Which, of course, meant he did. "Can't you get past your socially awkward self and apologize? And you call yourself her father."

England's flush took on a rather distinct hue. "YOU--"

"Darling," said France, stroking the back of her hand, "I'm sure we can elope elsewhere without this _thing_ hovering around like an incoherent mess. How does Seychelles' home sound for the honeymoon?"

"Whoa," said America, suddenly dropping his phone for the first time, "I thought this was a bring-the-boyfriend thing, not an I'm-getting-married shindig! You work fast, little sister." He waggled his eyebrows at her, much to her indignation.

"She's not pregnant, you idiot," said England, laughing weakly, and then turned to France and demanded, " _is_ she?"

"Um, I'm right here," said Canada, twiddling her thumbs. "Thanks for talking over my head, guys."

England gave her a pitying look, the kind he used to give her and America when they'd been younger and in the beginning stretches of developing what he'd called a rebellious streak a mile wide. It said, _I know you think you know what's good for you, but trust me when I say I think you're bloody crazy and no one is ever good for you, darling_. It was the same kind of look he'd given America in his own version of scaring the potential boyfriend -- if Canada had had the luxury of being in a relationship with someone who wasn't _France_ , of all people, then this kind of interrogation would have been visibly lessened.

Alright, so maybe if Canada had done the smart thing and bagged Russia for an on-and-off boyfriend, then she wouldn't even be in a situation like this one. America sure had it easy.

"You never answered my question," said America, grinning ferally. There were times that America paid keen attention to his surroundings, and they came few and far in between the moments he zoned out on everyone else. Too bad now was one of them.

"I'm not," said Canada, fervently tearing at a napkin. "Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"I am," said America. "Which is why I'm trying to get it out in the open so we can sue him or something."

"I'm not _suing_ my boyfriend," said Canada, at the half-alarmed, half-irritated look at France's face. "Why is suing people the answer to everything for you?"

"Gotta work around prenuptials, sis," said America. "Most relationships don't work out, you know." France gave him a dirty look.

"It's too bad," said Francis, "that your own fizzle out so quickly, unlike mine." The knowing look he'd given England wasn't lost to any of them, and suddenly the atmosphere turned a few degrees colder.

"You're a riot," said America. He shifted his attention back to his phone, sullenly. England awkwardly poked at his salad. Canada didn't know whether to feel thankful or mortified at the implications.

"You two?" Canada choked out, dropping the ruined napking to her lap. "I can't _believe_ you guys would even get on my case when you --"

"It was back before the 18th century," France supplied, rather helpfully.

Canada spluttered.

"ALRIGHT," said England, "how about that lovely wine you brought, America?"

"In my defense," muttered America, "I was really repressed."

"He started it," said England, raising his hands up at Canada's accusing stare.

"I don't think that's morally defensible any way you look at it," said France, sympathetically.

"Oh, like _you're_ one to talk, Mister I-have-a-unicorn-in-my-stable," said England, clearly shuddering at an unforgivable stain in his own youth.

Canada pointedly moved her chair closer to America.

"It _was_ acceptable at that age," said France, sniffing. "Oh, darling, don't turn away from me, I can assure you _my_ tastes have vastly improved."

"Can't say the same for your face," said England. "And don't think I haven't forgotten about your dalliance with America! Exposing him to nationalist sentiments, _bah_." Clearly, he hadn't forgiven France for that yet.

"Is there anyone in this table you haven't slept with yet except for me," said Canada, mournfully fixing her gaze to her mashed potatoes.

"I'm working on that," said France, voice filled with promise.

"See that you don't," said England, and began squabble number _whatever_ by dumping his peas on France's wineglass.

"You're not missing much," said America, rolling his eyes. "Now, if you _really_ wanted a good time--"

"Oh my god," said Canada. "Please stop talking."

America shrugged. "Offer's open any time, you know." No wonder America kind of got around.

"Next time," said Canada, despondently, "I am never inviting you three over at the same time. And I am never inviting England to my wedding. Just so you know."

"I don't know about you, but this is seriously the most screwed up family dinner ever," said America. "And I almost mean that in a good way."

Watching England lunge at France over the dinner table and America cheering them on, Canada had to agree to that.


End file.
